Linger
by the ticking clock
Summary: Aragorn had many names, but to Legolas he would always be "Estel"


Aragorn had many names.

If he was honest with himself, he could hardly remember all of them. The name he had known from his childhood was Estel, but that identity had been shattered when his true self had been revealed. He had become Aragorn. And the chain of names and differences began.

He had so many roles to play, to so many different people. Strider, Aragorn, Elessar...the list went on and on, a tedious stretch of confusion and uncertainty, of clanging metal and politics, of his own history. The list of names was rather daunting, and at times he found himself wondering if perhaps he had gotten lost in the process of gaining all those titles. Did he even really know who he was anymore? Who he truly was?

"King Elessar?"

The deep voice snapped him back to the present, and he looked up to see Faramier. The Steward was standing some what awkwardly in front of him, his light hair half-falling in his eyes, his hands crossed behind his back. Even now, he seemed somewhat of an akward boy to Aragorn, with the slight inclination of his shoulders, and the way he shifted his weight from foot to foot, never quite standing still.

"Faramir?" He replied, making the other man's name a question.

"You have a request-a visitor."

Aragorn resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Ever since his coronation, visits from other nobles, or elves had been frequent, and he was beginning to get tired of them. Now that he _was _king, he only wanted to work and fix the problems that Dethanor, and the other Stewards before him, had created.

"Show them in."

He sensed Faramir leave, heard the quiet recess of his footsteps echoing down the hall, and then silence.

He remained still for a moment, warrior instincts slowly resurfacing. Without moving his head, he allowed his eyes to slide to the side, unobtrusively glancing to his left.

A blur of gold and green was all he had time to register before something(or _someone) _slammed into him, sending his chair flying and papers cascading in every direction. The movement was so fast that all Aragorn had time to do was gasp before he hit the floor, the breath escaping his lungs in a small whisper of air. He blinked several times, trying to convince himself of what had just happened. "Las?"

Legolas's bright eyes laughed down at him, but his expression was one of forced calm. "Really, Estel, I thought I trained you better than that! If I were an enemy, you would be dead by now, my friend." His childhood name hit him with a slight shock, and he almost smiled. The lingering sound of something so sweet, a name that brought on so many happy memories was enough to brighten even his darkest of moods.

Aragorn could not help but laugh. "Point taken. Now let me up."

To his surprise, the elf obeyed, springing lightly to his feet and offering his hand. Aragorn took it, and allowed his friend to pull him up, grateful for the prince's steadying hand-Legolas, over all their years as friends, had never once lost his youthful strength, and Aragorn knew he never would. He wished he could say the same for himself.

Shaking his head, Aragorn looked around his study, taking in the overturned chairs, the ripped and scattered papers. "Was it really nessacery to wreck my office, mellon nin?"

Legolas grinned, and cocked his head, in a gesture so familiar that Aragorn had to smile back. "You never learn do you? You must be more neat."

Aragorn shook his head, slowly. "How is it," He said. "That even after over 80 years of friendship, that you still make me feel like a three year old?"

Legolas laughed, the sweet sound echoing like the sound of a thousand bells throughout Aragorn's study. The prince ducked his head, hiding his expression behind his long hair. "Oh Aragorn...because to me, you are still a child." Still laughing he half leaped-half ran from the room. "Clean up, Estel, or I'll be shooting arrows at you next!"

Aragorn sat down amid the piles of crumpled texts-half finished stories, letters, reports, maps and battle strategies. He absently picked up a paper and examined it. It was a letter, written in Legolas's strong, clear handwriting.

_Estel,_

_ Your brothers are driving me mad. You have to come home before I kill them. _

Aragorn bit back a laugh. He had forgotten those years he had spent wandering the wilds, trying to discover who he was, and Legolas had sent small notes and letters, calling him home. The elf himself had eventually turned up, and Aragron remembered their conversation vividly.

_Your destiny makes no difference to me, Estel. I promise. It has never made any difference. _

"Ellesar?" It was Faramir again, standing hesitantly in the door way. "What happened?"

Aragorn stood and smiled wryly. "Legolas."

The other man smiled, shaking his head. "That elf will be the death of us all."

"So little faith in me..." The lilting voice lamented, and Legolas was suddenly there, head cocked, eyes dancing. "Estel, truly, do clean up. A king cannot function in an office that looks like...this."

Aragorn resisted the urge to throw a punch at the elf's head. He could not act so childish in front of his Steward. "I will, Las."

The elf's lips twitched at the use of the old nickname. "You better."

Faramir shook his head again as Legolas turned and walked away. "I will never understand the two of you."

Aragorn half smiled. In truth, beside Arwen, Legolas was the only one who really did understand him.

Aragron had many names, many identities, many faces he wore to many people.

But to Legolas, he would always be Estel.


End file.
